With Bones of Hollow Glass
by Nataku2
Summary: OC (BR RPG) short, graphically gorey story about a father looking down at his adopted daughter. Might seem intimate.


With Bones of Hollow Glass  
  
Author: Nataku  
  
Rating: R  
  
Genre: Horror, Angst  
  
  
  
I look down at her as she sleeps, curled against my chest like some sort of lapdog. Her tiny body presses against my own, her hand curled in the material of my robe. I watch as her chest rises and falls with her breathes, her mouth uttering soft nonsense in her slumber. Ah…how wonderfully the innocent can sleep, un-plagued by the nightmares that forever linger in the minds of the tainted.  
  
Her skin was soft and pale…darker than my own ivory complexion, but creamy and smooth. Vibrant red hair crested her head and I can almost see the emerald behind those closed eyes. My fingers slowly move across her face, tracing those lovely Elvin features…like a fairy from a medieval woodcut and she smiles in her dreams, snuggling closer to my body.  
  
I touch her lips softly with leather clad fingers, brushing over them, then trailing down the side of her face to her neck, pausing at the hollow of her slender throat. The pulse throbs beneath the skin…and all I need to do is push down to end it.  
  
At times I wonder why she still lives, why I let her sleep in my bed, clinging to me like the daughter that was never borne from my loins. Thoughts whirl in my mind, blown by winds of confusion though my face remains impassive.  
  
Blood of countless, faceless souls have dripped down my tainted hands, lives destroyed mercilessly beneath my feet. That's what was necessary, to be ruthless and emotionless…but most of all devoid of compassion. It made one weak, difficult to kill.  
  
It's not as if she is the first. No…there were two more children before her, a boy then a girl. Both raised and trained to love me, to be loyal unto death. And both failed at the duty, their fragile necks crushed by my hands, the life wrung out of them like water from a rag. As cruel as it is…I'm not ashamed of it. They gave me their lives on their own free will and it was my choice to end it; that is the power one gives when they love. To be on your knees in front of someone and bare your throat to them, you must be prepared for the chance that the one to whom you give everything might just decide to take it all.  
  
"Hn…"  
  
I watch her with golden eyes as she stirs, watching her settle back down, soothed by a familiar scent, a familiar presence. Almost by it's own accord, my left hand reaches out and strokes her head, running fingers through the soft red strands and shifting a little to hold her more comfortably.  
  
The hand gently cupped the back of her neck and base of her skull, fingers petting idly. I watched as they tighten just a hair… it would be effortless for me to crush that tiny skull. All I needed to do was squeeze and her head would burst like a ripe melon. Milky cerebral fluid and blood would drip thickly down my fingers; hot and rich like syrup filled with the life I would have claimed.  
  
Perhaps I would lean down and softly kiss her goodnight, maybe even go as far as to tuck that cooling corpse in, ignoring the beginnings of rigor mortise and the hazy film that death settles over the body.  
  
Maybe I would find the secrets in that childish mind of hers, pluck them right out of her head like ripe strawberries in a field…  
  
The girl's tiny hand clutches mine, holding it close. My fingers twitch slightly, and then close over the petite digits. Her bones were so slim and fragile…to the point where it was like they were made of hollow glass, so easy to break. If I wasn't careful enough and used just a little too much pressure, I would crush every last bone in her hand to powder without even meaning to.  
  
Thud.  
  
Thud.  
  
Thud.  
  
I could hear her heart beating in her chest…beating the steady rhythm that told me she was alive. I closed my eyes and could picture the organ nestled in its bed of bones and flesh, pulsing blood through her youthful, beautiful veins. Taking a deep breath, my nose can pick up the achingly glorious scent of blood flowing just beneath her oh so soft skin, the very essence of life itself. My fingers dance across her wrist, tracing over the faint blue lines of her veins. They throb minutely to her heart…and I can only press my lips to her pale wrist to taste the pulse, not to break flesh, but simply to feel her life, to know that it's there.  
  
Sometimes, you never know.  
  
I lift my head and run my fingers over her face again, taking in the sweet, peaceful smile curving her lips and the worry-free expression molding her features… And yet I wonder what it would be like for me to bury my hand into the cavity of her torso, to tear through flesh and tissue, work past the protective cage of bone, and push aside the other organs to grasp the one which pushed blood through her body. I could drink her life like wine from a chalice and never have to worry about her being in trouble, being hurt, or being sad ever again. I could make it so she never had to feel anything anymore or suffer the pains of being among the living…  
  
"Love you, papa…"  
  
Her sleepy murmur made my train of thought pause. I looked…and she was still asleep. Her words were but an innocent declaration from the safety of a dream, and I stroked her cheek again.  
  
I knew why I still took care of her. And I knew why I wouldn't tear her heart, beating from her tiny chest… because she was mine. Mine to kill, mine to raise. Her very life was in my hands to do with as I pleased.  
  
She would live another day, another day with her bones of hollow glass... 


End file.
